The Precipice by Ivan Goncharov

Its easy to link to paragraphs in the Full Text ArchiveIf this page contains some material that you want to link to but you don't want your visitors to have to scroll down the whole page just hover your mouse over the relevent paragraph and click the bookmark icon that appears to the left of it. The address of that paragraph will appear in the address bar of your browser. For further details about how you can link to the Full Text Archive please refer to our linking page.

"Something is wrong with Vera," said Tatiana Markovna, shaking her greyhead as she saw how grimly he avoided her questioning glance.

"What can it be?" asked Raisky negligently, with an effort to assumeindifference.

"Something is wrong, Borushka. She looks so melancholy and is so silent,and often seems to have tears in her eyes. I have spoken to the doctor,but he only talks the old nonsense about nerves," she said, relapsinginto a gloomy silence.

Raisky looked anxiously for Vera's appearance next morning. She came atlast, accompanied by the maid, who carried a warm coat and her hat andshoes. She said good morning to her aunt, asked for coffee, ate her rollwith appetite, and reminded Raisky that he had promised to go shoppingwith her in the town and to take a walk in the park. It amazed him thatshe should be once more transformed, but there was a certain audacity inher gestures and a haste in her speech which seemed forced and alienfrom her usual manner and reminded him of her behaviour the day before.

She was plainly making a great effort to conceal her real mood. Shechatted volubly with Paulina Karpovna, who had turned up unexpectedlyand was displaying the pattern of a dress intended for Marfinka'strousseau. That lady's visit was really directed towards Raisky, ofwhose return she had heard. She sought in vain an occasion to speak withhim alone, but seized a moment to sit down beside him, when she madeeyes at him and said in a low voice: _"Je comprends; dites tout, ducourage."_

Raisky wished her anywhere, and moved away. Vera meanwhile put on hercoat and asked him to come with her. Paulina Karpovna wished toaccompany them, but Vera declined on the ground that they were walkingand had far to go, that the ground was damp, and that Paulina's elegantdress with a long train was unsuited for the expedition.

"I want to have you this whole day for myself," she said to Raisky asthey went out together, "indeed every day until you go."

"But, Vera, how can I help you when I don't know what is making yousuffer. I only see that you have your own drama, that the catastrophe isapproaching, or is in process. What is it?" he asked anxiously, as sheshivered.

"I don't feel well, and am far from gay. Autumn is beginning. Naturegrows dark and sinister, the birds are already deserting us, and my mood,too, is autumnal. Do you see the black line high above the Volga? Thoseare the cranes in flight. My thoughts, too, fly away into the distance."

She realised halfway that this strange explanation was unconvincing, andonly pursued it because she did not wish to tell the truth.

"I wanted to ask you, Vera, about the letters you wrote to me."

"I am ill and weak; you saw what an attack I had yesterday. I cannotremember just now all that I wrote."

"Another time then!" he sighed. "But tell me, Vera, how I can help you.Why do you keep me back, and why do you want to spend these days in mysociety? I have a right to ask this, and it is your duty to give a plainanswer unless you want me to think you false."

"Don't let us talk of it now."

"No," he cried angrily. "You play with me as a cat does with a mouse. Iwill endure it no longer. You can either reveal your own secrets or keepthem as you please, but in so far as it touches me, I demand animmediate answer. What is my part in this drama?"

"Do not be angry! I did not keep you back to wound you. But don't talkabout it, don't agitate me so that I have another attack likeyesterday's. You see that I can hardly stand. I don't want my weaknessto be seen at home. Defend me from myself. Come to me at dusk, about six,and I will tell you why I detained you."

"Pardon me, Vera. I am not myself either," he said, struck by hersuffering. "I don't know what lies on your heart, and I will not ask. Iwill come later to fetch you."

"I will tell you if I have the strength," she said.

They went into the shops, where Vera made purchases for herself andMarfinka, she talked eagerly to the acquaintances they met, and evenvisited a poor godchild, for whom she took gifts. She assented readilyto Raisky's suggestion that they should visit Koslov.

When they reached the house, Mark walked out of the door. He was plainlystartled, made no answer to Raisky's inquiry after Leonti's health, andwalked quickly away. Vera was still more disconcerted but pulled herselftogether, and followed Raisky into the house.

"What is the matter with him?" asked Raisky. "He did not answer a word,but simply bolted. You were frightened, too, Vera. Is it Mark whosignalises his presence at the foot of the precipice by a shot? I haveseen him wandering round with a gun," he said joking.

She answered in the same tone: "Of course, Cousin," but she did not lookat him.

No, thought Raisky to himself, she could not have taken for her idol awandering, ragged gipsy like that. Then he wondered whether thepossibility could be entirely excluded, since passion wanders where helists, and not in obedience to the convictions and dictates of man. Heis invincible, and master of his own inexplicable moods. But Vera hadnever had any opportunity of meeting Mark, he concluded, and was merelyafraid of him as every one else was.

Leonti's condition was unchanged. He wandered about like a drunken man,silent and listening for the noise of any carriage in the street, whenhe would rush to the window to look if it bore his fugitive wife.

He would come to them in a few weeks, he said, after Marfinka's wedding,as Vera suggested. Then he became aware of Vera's presence.

"Vera Vassilievna!" he cried in surprise, staring at her as he addressedRaisky. "Do you know, Boris Pavlovich, who else has read your books andhelped me to arrange them?"

"Who has been reading my books?" asked Raisky.

But Leonti had been distracted by the sound of a passing carriage anddid not hear the question. Vera whispered to Raisky that they should go.

Leonti pointed to Vera, who was looking out of the window, but who nowpulled Raisky's sleeve "Come!" she said and they left the house.

When they reached home Vera made over some of her purchases to her aunt,and had others taken to her room. She asked Raisky to go out with heragain in the park and down by the Volga.

"Why are you tiring yourself out, Vera?" he asked, as they went. "Youare weak."

"Air, I must have air!" she exclaimed, turning her face to the wind.

She is collecting all her strength, he thought, as they entered the roomwhere the family was waiting for them for dinner. In the afternoon heslept for weariness, and only awoke at twilight, when six o'clock hadalready struck. He went to find Vera, but Marina told him she had goneto vespers, she did not know whether in the village church on the hillor in the church on the outskirts of the town. He went to the townchurch first, and after studying the faces of all the old womenassembled there, he climbed the hill to the village church. Old peoplestood in the corners and by the door, and by a pillar in a dark cornerknelt Vera, with a veil wrapped round her bowed head. He took his standnear her, behind another pillar, and, engrossed in his thoughts of herstate of mind, watched her intently as she prayed motionless, with hereyes fixed on the cross. He went sadly into the porch to wait for her,and there she joined him, putting her hand in his arm without a word.

As they crossed the big meadow into the park he thought of nothing butthe promised explanation. His own intense desire to be freed from hismiserable uncertainty weighed with him less than his duty, as heconceived it, of shielding her, of illuminating her path with hisexperience, and of lending his undivided strength to keep her fromoverstepping her moral precipice. Perhaps it was merely a remnant ofpride that prevented her from telling him why she had summoned him anddetained him.

He could not, and, even if he could, he had not the right to share hisapprehensions with anyone else. Even if he might confide in TatianaMarkovna, if he spoke to her of his suspicion and his surmises, he wasnot clear that it would help matters, for he feared that their aunt'spractical, but old-fashioned wisdom would be shattered on Vera'sobstinacy. Vera possessed the bolder mind, the quicker will. She waslevel with contemporary thought, and towered above the society in whichshe moved. She must have derived her ideas and her knowledge from somesource accessible to her alone. Though she took pains to conceal herknowledge, it was betrayed by a chance word, by the mention of a name oran authority in this or that sphere of learning, and it was betrayedalso in her speech; in the remarkable aptness of the words in which sheclothed her thoughts and feelings. In this matter she held so great anadvantage over Tatiana Markovna that the old lady's efforts in argumentwere more likely to be disastrous than not.

Undoubtedly Tatiana Markovna was a wise woman with a correct judgment ofthe general phenomena of life. She was a famous housewife, ruling herlittle tsardom magnificently; she knew the ways, the vices and thevirtues of mankind as they are set out in the Ten Commandments and theGospels, but she knew nothing of the life where the passions rage andsteep everything in their colours. And even if she had known such aworld in her youth it must have been passion divorced from experience,an unshared passion, or one stifled in its development, not a stormydrama of love, but rather a lyric tenderness which unfolded and perishedwithout leaving a trace on her pure life. How could she lend a rescuinghand to snatch Vera from the precipice, she who had no faith in passion,but had merely sought to understand facts?

The shots in the depths of the precipice, and Vera's expeditions wereindeed facts, against which Tatiana Markovna might be able to adoptmeasures. She might double the watch kept on the property, set men towatch for the lover, while Vera, shut up in the house, enduredhumiliation and a fresh kind of suffering.

Vera would not endure any such rough constraint, and would make herescape, just as she had fled across the Volga from Raisky. These wouldbe, in fact, no means at all, for she had outgrown Tatiana Markovna'scircle of experience and morals. No, authority might serve with Marfinka,but not with the clear-headed, independent Vera.

Such were Raisky's thoughts as he walked silently by Vera's side, nolonger desiring full knowledge for his own sake, but for her salvation.Perhaps, he thought, he would best gain his end by indirect efforts tomake her betray herself.

"Leonti said," he began, "that you have been reading books out of mylibrary. Did you read them with him?"

"Sometimes he told me of the contents of certain books; others I readwith the priest, Natasha's husband."

"What books did you read with the priest?"

"For the moment I don't remember, but he read the writings of theFathers, for instance, and explained them to Natasha and me, to my greatadvantage. We also read with him Voltaire and Spinoza. Why do youlaugh?" she asked, looking at Raisky.

"There seems a remarkable gap between the Fathers and Spinoza andVoltaire. The Encyclopaedists are also included in my library. Did youread them?"

"Nikolai Ivanovich read some to us, and talked about others."

"Did you also occupy yourselves with Feuerbach, with the Socialists andthe Materialists?"

"Yes, Natasha's husband asked us to copy out passages, which heindicated by pencil marks."

"What was his object in this?"

"I think he was preparing to publish a refutation."

"Where did you obtain the newer books that are not in my library?Not the exile," he suggested as she gave no answer, "who liveshere under police supervision, the same man about whom you wroteto me? But you are not listening."

"Yes, I am. Who gave me the books? Sometimes one person, sometimesanother here in the town."

"Volokov borrowed these books."

"Perhaps so, I had them from professors."

The thought flashed through Raisky's head that there might be otherprofessors of the same kind as Monsieur Charles. But he merely askedwhat were the views of Nikolai Ivanovich on Spinoza and these otherwriters.

"He says." replied Vera, "that these writings are the efforts of boldminds to evade the truth; they have beaten out for themselves side pathswhich must in the end unite with the main road. He says too, that allthese attempts serve the cause of truth, in that the truth shines outwith greater splendour in the end."

"But he does not tell you where truth lies?"

By way of answer she pointed to the little chapel now in sight.

"And you think he is right?"

"I don't think, I believe. And don't you also believe he is right."

He agreed, and she asked him why, that being so, he had asked her.

"I wanted," he said, "to know your opinion."

"But you have often seen me at prayer," said Vera.

"Yes, but I do not overhear your prayers. Do you pray for thealleviation of the restless sorrow that afflicts your mind?"

They had reached the chapel, and Vera stood still for a moment. She didnot appear to have heard his question, and she answered only with a deepsigh. It was growing dark as they retraced their steps, Vera's growingslower and more uncertain as they approached the old house, where shestood still and glanced in the direction of the precipice.

"To still the storm I must not go near the precipice, you say--I beg ofyou to stand by me, for I am sick and helpless."

"Will not Grandmother know better how to help you, Vera? Confide in her,a woman, who will perhaps understand your pain."

She shook her head. "I will tell you, Grandmother and you, but not now;now I cannot. And yet I beg of you not to leave me, not to allow me outof your sight. If a shot summons me, keep me away from the precipice,and, if necessary, hold me back by force. Things are as bad as that withme. That is all you can do for me. That is why I asked you not to goaway, because I felt that my strength is failing, because except you Ihave no one to help me, for Grandmother would not understand. Forgiveme."

"You did right, Vera," he replied, deeply moved. "Depend on me. I amwilling to stay here for ever, if that will bring you peace."

"No, in a week's time the shots will cease."

She dried her eyes, and pressed his hand; then with slow, uneven steps,supporting herself by the balustrade she passed up the steps and intothe house.

CHAPTER XXII

Two days had passed, and Raisky had had small opportunity of seeingVera alone, though she came to dinner and to tea, and spoke of ordinarythings. Raisky turned once more to his novel, or rather to the plan ofit. He visited Leonti, and did not neglect the Governor and otherfriends. But in order to keep watch on Vera he wandered about the parkand the garden. Two days were now gone, he thought, since he sat on thebench by the precipice, but there were still five days of danger.Marfinka's birthday lay two days' ahead, and on that day Vera wouldhardly leave the family circle. On the next Marfinka was to go with herfiance and his mother to Kolchino, and Vera would not be likely to leaveTatiana Markovna alone. By that time the week would be over and thethreatening clouds dispersed.

After dinner Vera asked him to come over to her in the evening, as shewished him to undertake a commission for her. When he arrived shesuggested a walk, and, as she chose the direction of the fields herealised that she wished to go to the chapel, and took the field pathaccordingly.

As she crossed the threshold, she looked up at the thoughtful face ofthe Christ.

"You have sought more powerful aid than mine," said Raisky. "Moreover,you will not now go there without me."

She nodded in assent. She seemed to be seeking strength, sympathy andsupport from the glance of the Crucified, but His eyes kept theirexpression of quiet thought and detachment.

When she turned her eyes from the picture she reiterated, "I will notgo." Raisky read on her face neither prayer nor desire; it wore anexpression of weariness, indifference and submission.

He suggested that they should return, and reminded her that she had acommission for him.

"Will you take the bouquet-holder that I chose the other week forMarfinka's birthday to the goldsmith?" she said, handing him her purse."I gave him some pearls to set in it, and her name should be engraved.And could you be up as early as eight o'clock on her birthday?"

"Of course. If necessary, I can stay up all night!"

"I have already spoken to the gardener, who owns the big orangery. Wouldyou choose me a nice bouquet and send it to me. I have confidence inyour taste."

"I would have seen to all this myself," she went on, "but I have not thestrength."

Next day Raisky took the bouquet holder, and discussed the arrangementof the flowers with the gardener. He himself bought for Marfinka anelegant watch and chain, with two hundred roubles which he borrowed fromTiet Nikonich, for Tatiana Markovna would not have given him so muchmoney for the purpose, and would have betrayed the secret. In TietNikonich's room he found a dressing table decked with muslin and lace,with a mirror encased in a china frame of flowers and Cupids, abeautiful specimen of Sevres work.

"Where did you get this treasure?" cried Raisky, who could not take hiseyes from the thing. "What a lovely piece!"

"It is my gift for Marfa Vassilievna," said Tiet Nikonich with his kindsmile. "I am glad it pleases you, for you are a connoisseur. Your likingfor it assures me that the dear birthday child will appreciate it as awedding gift. She is a lovely girl, just like these roses. The Cupidswill smile when they see her charming face in the mirror. Please don'ttell Tatiana Markovna of my secret."

"This beautiful piece must have cost over two thousand roubles, and youcannot possibly have bought it here."

"My Grandfather gave five thousand roubles for it, and it was part of myMother's house-furnishing and until now it stood in her bedroom, leftuntouched in my birth-place. I had it brought here last month, and tomake sure it should not be broken, six men carried it in alternateshifts for the whole hundred and fifty versts. I had a new muslin covermade, but the lace is old; you will notice how yellow it is. Ladies likethese things, although they don't matter to us."

"What will Grandmother say?"

"There will be a storm. I do feel rather uneasy about it, but perhapsshe will forgive me. I may tell you, Boris Pavlovich, that I love boththe girls, as if they were my own daughters. I held them on my knee asbabies, and with Tatiana Markovna gave them their first lessons. I tellyou in confidence that I have also arranged a wedding present for VeraVassilievna which I hope she will like when the time comes." He showedRaisky a magnificent antique silver dinner service of fine workmanshipfor twelve persons. "I may confess to you, as you are her cousin, thatin agreement with Tatiana Markovna I have a splendid and a rich marriagein view for her, for whom nothing can be too good. The finest_partie_ in this neighbourhood," he said in a confidential tone,"is Ivan Ivanovich Tushin, who is absolutely devoted to her, as he wellmay be."

Raisky repressed a sigh and went home where he found Vikentev and hismother, who had arrived for Marfinka's birthday, with Paulina Karpovnaand other guests from the town, who stayed until nearly seven o'clock.Tatiana Markovna and Marfa Egorovna carried on an interminableconversation about Marfinka's trousseau and house furnishing. The loverswent into the garden, and from there to the village. Vikentev carrying aparcel which he threw in the air and caught again as he walked. Marfinkaentered every house, said good-bye to the women, and caressed thechildren. In two cases she washed the children's faces, she distributedcalico for shirts and dresses, and told two elder children to whom shepresented shoes that it was time they gave up paddling in the puddles.

"God reward you, our lovely mistress, Angel of God!" cried the women inevery yard as she bade them farewell for a fortnight.

CHAPTER XXIII

In the evening the house was aglow with light. Tatiana Markovna couldnot do enough in honour of her guest and future connexion. She had agreat bed put up in the guest-chamber, that nearly reached to theceiling and resembled a catafalque. Marfinka and Vikentev gave full reinto their gay humour, as they played and sang. Only Raisky's windows weredark. He had gone out immediately after dinner and had not returned totea.

The moon illuminated the new house but left the old house in shadow.There was bustle in the yard, in the kitchen, and in the servants' rooms,where Marfa Egorovna's coachman and servants were being entertained.

From seven o'clock onwards Vera had sat idle in the dusk by the feeblelight of a candle, her head supported on her hand, leaning over thetable, while with her other hand she turned over the leaves of a book atwhich she hardly glanced. She was protected from the cold autumn airfrom the open window, by a big white woollen shawl thrown round hershoulders. She stood up after a time, laid the book on the table, andwent to the window. She looked towards the sky, and then at thegaily-lighted house opposite. She shivered, and was about to shut thewindow when the report of a gun rolled up from the park through thequiet dusk.

She shuddered, and seemed to have lost the use of her limbs, then sankinto a chair and bowed her head. When she rose and looked wildly round,her face had changed. Sheer fright and distress looked from her eyes.Again and again she passed her hand over her forehead, and sat down atthe table, only to jump up again. She tore the shawl from her shouldersand threw it on the bed; then with nervous haste she opened and shut thecupboard; she looked on the divan, on the chairs, for something sheapparently could not find, and then collapsed wearily on her chair.

On the back of the chair hung a wrap, a gift from Tiet Nikonich. Sheseized it and threw it over her head, rushed to the wardrobe, hunted init with feverish haste, taking out first one coat, then another, untilshe had nearly emptied the cupboard and dresses and cloaks lay in a heapon the floor. At last she found something warm and dark, put out thelight, and went noiselessly down the steps into the open. She crossedthe yard, hidden in the shadows, and took her way along the dark avenue.She did not walk, she flew; and when she crossed the open light patchesher shadow was hardly visible for a moment, as if the moon had not timeto catch the flying figure.

When she reached the end of the avenue, by the ditch which divided thegarden from the park, she stopped a moment to get her breath. Then shecrossed the park, hurried through the bushes, past her favourite bench,and reached the precipice. She picked up her skirts for the descent,when suddenly, as if he had risen out of the ground, Raisky stoodbetween her and her goal.

"Where are you going, Vera?"

There was no answer.

"Go back," he said, offering his hand, but she tried to push past him."Vera, where are you going?"

"It is for the last time." she said in a pleading, shamed whisper. "Imust say good-bye. Make way for me, Cousin! I will return in a moment.Wait for me here, on this bench."

Without replying, he took her firmly by the hand, and she struggled invain to free herself.

"Let me go! You are hurting me!"

But he did not give way, and the struggle proceeded.

"You will not hold me by force," she cried, and with unnatural strengthfreed herself, and sought to dash past him.

But he put his arm round her waist, took her to the bench, and sat downbeside her.

"How rough and rude!" she cried.

"I cannot hold you back by force, Vera. I may be saving you from ruin."

"Can I be ruined against my own will?"

"It is against your will; yet you go to your ruin."

"There is no question of ruin. We must see one another again in order toseparate."

"It is not necessary to see one another in order to separate."

"I must, and will. An hour or a day later, it is all the same. You maycall the servants, the whole town, a file of soldiers, but no power willkeep me back."

A second shot resounded.

She pulled herself up, but was pressed down on the bench with the weightof Raisky's hands. She shook her head wildly in powerless rage.

"What reward do you hope from me for this virtuous deed?" she hissed.

He said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on her movements. After a timeshe besought him gently: "Let me go, Cousin," but he refused.

"Cousin," she said, laying her hand gently on his shoulder. "Imaginethat you sat upon hot coals, and were dying every minute of terror, andof wild impatience, that happiness rose before you, stretching outenticing arms, only to vanish, that your whole being rose to meet it;imagine that you saw before you a last hope, a last glimmer. That is howit is with me at this moment. The moment will be lost, and with iteverything else."

"Think, Vera, if in the hot thirst of fever you ask for ice, it isdenied you. In your soberer moments yesterday you pointed out to me thepractical means of rescue, you said I was not to let you go, and I willnot."

She fell on her knees before him, and wrung her hands.

"I should curse you my whole life long for your violence. Give way.Perhaps it is my destiny that calls me."

"I was a witness yesterday, Vera, of where you seek your fate. Youbelieve in a Providence, and there is no other destiny."

"Yes," she answered submissively. "I do believe. There before the sacredpicture I sought for a spark to lighten my path, but in vain. What shallI do?" she said, rising.

"Do not go, Vera."

"Perhaps it is my destiny that sends me there, there where my presencemay be needed. Don't try any longer to keep me, for I have made up mymind. My weakness is gone, and I have recovered control of myself andfeel I am strong. It is not my destiny alone, but the destiny of anotherhuman being that is to be decided down there. Between me and him you aredigging an abyss, and the responsibility will rest upon you. I shallnever be consoled, and shall accuse you of having destroyed ourhappiness. Do not hold me back. You can only do it out of egoism, out ofjealousy. You lied when you spoke to me of freedom."

"I hear the voice of passion, Vera, with all its sophistry and itsdeviations. You are practising the arts of a Jesuit. Remember that youyourself bade me, only yesterday, not to leave you. Will you curse mefor not yielding to you? On whom does the responsibility rest? Tell mewho the man is?"

"If I tell you will you promise not to keep me back?" she said quickly.

"I don't know. Perhaps."

"Give me your word not to keep me any longer, and I give the name."

Another shot rang out.

She sprang to one side, before he had time to take her by the hand.

"Go to Grandmother," he commanded, adding gently, "Tell her yourtrouble."

"For Christ's sake let me go. I ask for alms like a beggar. I must befree! I take him to whom I prayed yesterday to witness that I am goingfor the last time. Do you hear? I will not break my oath. Wait here forme. I will return immediately, will only say farewell to the 'Wolf,'will hear a word from him, and perhaps he will yield!" She rushedforward, fell to the ground in her haste, and tried in vain to rise. Tomby an unutterable pity, Raisky took no heed of his own suffering, butraised her in his arms and bore her down the precipice.

"The path is so steep here that you would fall again," he whispered.Presently he set her down on the path, and she stooped to kiss his hand.

"You are generous, Cousin. Vera will not forget."

With that she hurried into the thicket, jubilant as a bird set free fromhis cage.

Raisky heard the rustle of the bushes as she pushed them aside, and thecrackle of the dry twigs.

In the half-ruined arbour waited Mark, with gun and cap laid upon thetable. He walked up and down on the shaky floor, and whenever he trod onone end of a board the other rose in the air, and then fell clatteringback again.

"The devil's music!" he murmured angrily, sat down on a bench near thetable, and pushed his hands through his thick hair. He smoked onecigarette after another, the burning match lighting up his pale,agitated face for a moment. After each shot he listened for a fewminutes, went out on the steps, and looked out into the bushes. When hereturned he walked up and down, raising the "devil's music" once more,threw himself on the bench, and ran his hands through his hair. Afterthe third shot he listened long and earnestly. As he heard nothing hewas on the point of going away. To relieve his gloomy feelings hemurmured a curse between his teeth, took the gun and prepared to descendthe path. He hesitated a few moments longer, then walked off withdecision. Suddenly he met Vera.

She stood still, breathing with difficulty, and laid her hand on herheart. As soon as he took her hand she was calm. Mark could not concealhis joy, but his words of greeting did not betray it.

"You used to be punctual, Vera," he said, "and I used not to have towaste three shots."

"A reproach instead of a welcome!" she said, drawing her hand away.

"It's only by way of beginning a conversation Happiness makes a fool ofme, like Raisky."

"If happiness gleamed before us, we should not be meeting in secret bythis precipice," she said, drawing a long breath.

"We should be sitting at your Grandmother's tea-table, and waiting tillsomeone arranged our betrothal. Why dream of these impossible things.Your Grandmother would not give you to me."

"She would. She does what I wish. That is not the hindrance."

"You are starting on this endless polemic again, Vera. We are meetingfor the last time, as you determined we should. Let us make an end ofthis torture."

"I took an oath never to come here again."

"Meanwhile, the time is precious. We are parting for ever, if stupiditycommands, if your Grandmother's antiquated convictions separate us. Ileave here a week from now. As you know the document assuring my freedomhas arrived. Let us be together, and not be separated again."

"Never?"

"Never!" he repeated angrily, with a gesture of impatience. "What lyingwords those are, 'never' and 'always.' Of course 'never.' Does not ayear, perhaps two, three years, mean never? You want a never endingtenderness. Does such a thing exist?"

"Enough, Mark! I have heard enough of this temporary affection. Ah! I amvery unhappy. The separation from you is not the only cloud over my soul.For a year now I have been hiding myself from my Grandmother, whichoppresses me, and her still more. I hoped that in these days my troublewould end; we should put our thoughts, our hopes, our intentions on aclear footing. Then I would go to Grandmother and say: 'This is what Ihave chosen for my whole life.' But it is not to be, and we are topart?" she asked sadly.

"If I conceived myself to be an angel," said Mark, "I might say 'for ourwhole lives,' and you would be justified. That gray-headed dreamer,Raisky, also thinks that women are created for a higher purpose."

"They are created above all for the family. They are not angels, neitherare they, most certainly, mere animals. I am no wolf's mate, Mark, but awoman."

"For the family, yes. But is that any hindrance for us. You wantdraperies, for fine feeling, sympathies and the rest of the stuff arenothing but draperies, like those famous leaves with which, it is said,human beings covered themselves in Paradise."

"Yes, Mark, human beings!"

Mark smiled sarcastically, and shrugged his shoulders.

"They may be draperies," continued Vera, "but they also, according toyour own teaching, are given by nature. What, I ask, is it that attachesyou to me? You say you love me. You have altered, grown thinner. Is itnot, by your conception of love, a matter of indifference whether youchoose a companion in me, or from the poor quarter of our town, or froma village on the Volga. What has induced you to come down here for awhole year?"

"Examine your own fallacy, Vera," he said, looking at her gloomily."Love is not a concept merely, but a driving force, a necessity, andtherefore is mostly blind. But I am not blindly chained to you. Yourextraordinary beauty, your intellect and your free outlook hold melonger in thrall than would be possible with any other woman."

"Very flattering!" she said in a low, pained voice.

"These ideas of yours, Vera, will bring us to disaster. But for them weshould for long have been united and happy."

"Happy for a time. And then a new driving force will appear on the scene,the stage will be cleared, and so on."

"The responsibility is not ours. Nature has ordered it so, and rightly.Can we alter Nature, in order to live on concepts?"

"These concepts are essential principles. You have said yourself thatNature has her laws, and human beings their principles."

"That is where the germ of disintegration lies, in that men want toformulate principles from the driving force of Nature, and thus tohamper themselves hand and foot. Love is happiness, which Nature hasconferred on man. That is my view."

"The happiness of which you speak," said Vera, rising, "has as itscomplement, duty. That is my view."

"How fantastic! Forget your duty, Vera, and acquiesce in the fact thatlove is a driving force of Nature, often an uncontrollable one." Thenstanding up to her embraced her, saying, "Is that not so, you mostobstinate, beautiful and wisest of women?"

"Yes, duty," she said haughtily, disengaging herself. "For the years ofhappiness retribution will be exacted."

"How? In making soup, nursing one another, looking at one another andpretending, in harping on principles, as we ourselves fade? If one halffalls ill and retrogresses, shall the other who is strong, who hears thecall of life, allow himself to be held back by duty?"

"Yes. In that case he must not listen to the calls that come to him; hemust, to use Grandmother's expression, avoid the voice as he would thebrandy bottle. That is how I understand happiness."

"Your case must be a bad one if it has to be bolstered up by quotationsfrom your Grandmother's wisdom. Tell me how firmly your principles arerooted."

"I will go to her to-day direct from here."

"To tell her what?"

"To tell her what there is between us, all that she does not know," shesaid, sitting down on the bench again.

"Why?"

"You don't understand, because you don't know what duty means. I havebeen guilty before her for a long time."

"That is the morality which smothers life with mould and dulness. Vera,Vera, you don't love, you do not know how!"

"You ought not to speak like that, unless you wish to drive me todespair. Am I to think that there is deception in your past, that youwant to ruin me when you do not love me?"

"No, no, Vera," he said, rising hastily to his feet. "If I had wanted todeceive you I could have done so long ago."

"What a desperate war you wage against yourself, Mark, and how you ruinyour own life!" she cried, wringing her hands.

"Let us cease to quarrel, Vera. Your Grandmother speaks through you, butwith another voice. That was all very well once, but now we are in theflood of another life where neither authority nor preconceived ideaswill help us, where truth alone asserts her power."

"Where is truth?"

"In happiness, in the joy of love. And I love you. Why do you torture me.Why do you fight against me and against yourself, and make two victims?"

"It is a strange reproach. Look at me. It is only a few days since wesaw one another, and have I not changed?"

"I see that you suffer, and that makes it the more senseless. Now, I tooask what has induced you to come down here for all this time?"

"Because I had not earlier realised the horror of my position, you willsay," she said, with a look that was almost hostile. "We might haveasked one another this question, and made this reproach, long ago, andmight have ceased to meet here. Better late than never! To-day we mustanswer the question, What is it that we wanted and expected from oneanother?"

"Here is my irrefragable opinion--I want your love, and I give you mine.In love I recognise solely the principle of reciprocation, as it obtainsin Nature. The law that I acknowledge is to follow unfettered our strongimpression, to exchange happiness for happiness. This answers yourquestion of why I came here. Is sacrifice necessary? Call it what youwill there is no sacrifice in my scheme of life. I will no longer wanderin this morass, and don't understand how I have wasted my strength solong, certainly not for your sake, but essentially for my own. Here Iwill stay so long as I am happy, so long as I love. If my love growscold, I shall tell you so, and go wherever Life leads me, without takingany baggage of duties and privileges with me; those I leave here in thedepths below the precipice. You see, Vera, I don't deceive you, butspeak frankly. Naturally you possess the same rights as I. The mob abovethere lies to itself and others, and calls these his principles. But insecret and by cunning it acts in the same way, and only lays its ban onthe women. Between us there must be equality. Is that fair or not?"

"Love imposes duties, just as life demands them. If you had an old,blind mother you would maintain and support her, would remain by her. Anhonourable man holds it to be his duty and his pleasure too."

"You philosophise, Vera, but you do not love."

"You avoid my argument, Mark. I speak my opinion plainly, for I am awoman, not an animal, or a machine."

"Your love is the fantastic, elaborate type described in novels. Is whatyou ask of me honourable? Against my convictions I am to go into achurch, to submit to a ceremony which has no meaning for me. I don'tbelieve any of it and can't endure the parson. Should I be actinglogically or honourably?"

Vera hastily wrapped herself in her mantilla, and stood up to go.

"We met, Mark, to remove all the obstacles that stand in the way of ourhappiness, but instead of that we are increasing them. You handleroughly things that are sacred to me. Why did you call me here? Ithought you had surrendered, that we should take one another's hands forever. Every time I have taken the path down the cliff it has been inthis hope, and in the end I am disappointed. Do you know, Mark, wheretrue life lies?"

"Where?"

"In the heart of a loving woman. To be the friend of such a woman...."

Tears stifled her voice, but through her sobs she whispered: "I cannot,Mark. Neither my intellect nor my strength are sufficient to disputewith you. My weapon is weak, and has no value except that I have drawnit from the armoury of a quiet life, not from books or hearsay. I hadthought to conquer you with other weapons. Do you remember how all thisbegan?" she said, sitting down once more. "At first I was sorry for you.You were here alone, with no one to understand you, and everyone fled atthe sight of you. I was drawn to you by sympathy, and saw somethingstrange and undisciplined in you. You had no care for propriety, youwere incautious in speech, you played rashly with life, cared for nohuman being, had no faith of your own, and sought to win disciples. Fromcuriosity I followed your steps, allowed you to meet me, took books fromyou. I recognised in you intellect and strength, but strangely mixed anddirected away from life. Then, to my sorrow, I imagined that I couldteach you to value life, I wanted you to live so that you should behigher and better than anyone else, I quarrelled with you over yourundisciplined way of living. You submitted to my influence, and Isubmitted to yours, to your intellect, your audacity, and even adoptedpart of your sophistry."

"But you soon," put in Mark, "retraced your steps, and were seized withfear of your Grandmother. Why did you not leave me when you first becameaware of my sophistry? Sophistry!"

"It was too late, for I had already taken your fate too intimately toheart. I believed with all possible ardour that you would for my sakecomprehend life, that you would cease to wander about to your own injuryand without advantage to anyone else, that you would accept asubstantial position of some kind...."

"Vice-governor, Councillor or something of the kind," he mocked.

"What's in the name? Yes, I thought that you would show yourself a manof action in a wide sphere of influence."

"As a well-disposed subject and as jack of all trades, and what else?"

"My lifelong friend. I let my hopes of you take hold on me, and wascarried away by them, and what are my gains in the terrible conflict?One only, that you flee from love, from happiness, from life, and fromyour Vera." She drew closer to him and touched his shoulder. "Don't flyfrom us, Mark. Look in my eyes, listen to my voice, which speaks withthe voice of truth. Let us go to-morrow up the hill into the garden, andto-morrow there will be no happier pair than we are. You love me, Mark.Mark, do you hear? Look at me."

She stooped, and looked into his eyes.

He got sharply to his feet, and shook his mass of hair.

Vera took up her black mantilla once more, but her hands refused to obeyher, and the mantilla fell on the floor. She took a step towards thedoor, but sank down again on the bench. Where could she find strength tohold him, when she had not even strength to leave the arbour, shewondered. And even if she could hold him, what would be the consequences?Not one life, but two separate lives, two prisons, divided by a grating.

"We are both brusque and strong, Vera; that is why we torture oneanother, why we are separating."

"If I were strong, you would not leave Malinovka; you would ascend thehill with me, not clandestinely, but boldly by my side. Come and sharelife and happiness with me. It is impossible that you should not trustme, impossible that you are insincere, for that would be a crime. Whatshall I do? How shall I bring home to you the truth?"

"You would have to be stronger than I, but we are of equal strength.That is why we dispute and are not of one mind. We must separate withoutbringing our struggle to an issue, one must submit to the other. I couldtake forcible possession of you as I could of any other woman. But whatin another woman is prudery, or petty fear, or stupidity, is in youstrength and womanly determination. The mist that divided us isdispersed; we have made our position clear. Nature has endued you with apowerful weapon, Vera. The antiquated ideas, morality, duty, principles,and faiths that do not exist for me are firmly established with you. Youare not easily carried away, you put up a desperate fight and will onlyconfess yourself conquered under terms of equality with your opponent.You are wrong, for it is a kind of theft. You ask to be conquered, andto carry off all the spoils! I, Vera, cannot give everything, but Irespect you."

Vera gave him a glance in which there was a trace of pride, but herheart beat with the pain of parting. His words were a model of what afarewell should be.

"We have gone to the bottom of the matter," said Mark dully, "and Ileave the decision in your hands." He went to the other side of thearbour, keeping his eyes fixed upon her. "I am not deceiving you evennow, in this decisive moment, when my head is giddy--I cannot. I do notpromise you an unending love, because I do not believe in such a thing.I will not be your betrothed. But I love you more than anything else inthe world. If, after all I have told you, you come to my arms, it meansthat you love me, that you are mine."

She looked across at him with wide open eyes, and felt that her wholebody was trembling. A doubt shot through her mind. Was he a Jesuit, orwas the man who brought her into this dangerous dilemma in reality ofunbending honour?

"Yours for ever?" she said in a low voice. If he said, "yes," it would,she knew, be a bridge for the moment to help her over the abyss thatdivided them, but that afterwards she would be plunged into the abyss.She was afraid of him.

Mark was painfully agitated, but he answered in a subdued tone, "I donot know. I only know what I am doing now, and do not see even into thenear future. Neither can you. Let us give love for love, and I remainhere, quieter than the waters of the pool, humbler than grass. I will dowhat you will, and what do you ask more. Or," he added suddenly, comingnearer, "we will leave this place altogether...."

In a lightning flash the wide world seemed to smile before her, as ifthe gates of Paradise were open. She threw herself in Mark's arms andlaid her hand on his shoulder. If she went away into the far distancewith him, she thought, he could not tear himself from her, and oncealone with her he must realise that life was only life in her presence.

"Will you decide!" he asked seriously. She said nothing, but bowed herhead. "Or do you fear your Grandmother?"

The last words brought her to her senses, and she stepped back.

"If I do not decide," she whispered, "it is only because I fear her."

"The old lady would not let you go."

"She would let me go, and would give me her blessing, but she herselfwould die of grief. That is what I fear. To go away together," she saiddreamily, "and what then?" She looked up at him searchingly.

"And then? How can I know, Vera?"

"You will suddenly be driven from me; you will go and leave me, as if Iwere merely a log?"

"Why a log? We could separate as friends."

"Separation! Do the ideas of love and separation exist side by side inyour mind? They are extremes which should never meet. Separation mustonly come with death. Farewell, Mark! You can never promise me thehappiness that I seek. All is at an end. Farewell!"

"Farewell, Vera!" he said in a voice quite unlike his own.

Both were pale, and avoided one another's eyes. In the white moonlightthat gleamed through the trees Vera sought her mantilla, and grasped thegun instead. At last she found the mantilla, but could not put it on hershoulders. Mark helped her mechanically, but left his own belongingsbehind. They went silently up the path, with slow and hesitating steps,as if each expected something from the other, both of them occupied withthe same mental effort to find a pretext for delay. They came at last tothe spot where Mark's way lay across a low fence, and hers by thewinding path through the bushes up to the park.

Vera stood still. She seemed to see the events of her whole life passbefore her in quick succession, but saw none filled with bitterness likethe present. Her eyes filled with tears. She felt a violent impulse tolook round once more, to see him once more, to measure with her eyes theextent of her loss, and then to hurry on again. But however great hersorrow for her wrecked happiness she dare not look round, for she knewit would be equivalent to saying Yes to destiny. She took a few steps upthe path.

Mark strode fiercely away towards the hedge, like a wild beast baulkedof his prey. He had not lied when he said that he esteemed Vera, but itwas an esteem wrung from him against his will, the esteem of the soldierfor a brave enemy. He cursed the old-fashioned ideas which had enchainedher free and vivacious spirit. His suffering was the suffering ofdespair; he was in the mood of a madman who would shatter a treasure ofwhich the possession was denied him, in order that no one else mightpossess it. He was ready to spring, and could hardly restrain himselffrom laying violent hands on Vera. By his own confession to her he wouldhave treated any other woman so, but not Vera. Then the convictiongnawed at his heart that for the sake of the woman who was now escapinghim he was neglecting his "mission." His pride suffered unspeakably bythe confession of his own powerlessness. He admitted that the beautifulstatue filled with the breath of life had character; she acted inaccordance with her own proud will, not by the influence of outsidesuggestion. His new conception of truth did not subdue her strong,healthy temperament; it rather induced her to submit it to a minuteanalysis and to stick closer to her own conception of the truth. And nowshe was going, and as the traces of her footsteps would vanish, so allthat had passed between them would be lost. And with her went all thecharm and glory of life, never to return.

He stamped his feet with rage and swung himself on to the fence. Hewould cast one glance in her direction to see if the haughty creaturewas really going.

"One more glance," thought Vera. She turned, and shuddered to see Marksitting on the fence and gazing at her.

"Farewell, Mark," she cried, in a voice trembling with despair.

From his throat there issued a low, wild cry of triumph. In a moment hewas by her side, with victory and the conviction of her surrender in hisheart.

"Vera!"

"You have come back, for always? You have at last understood. Whathappiness! God forgive...."

She did not complete her sentence, for she lay wrapt in his embrace, hersobs quenched by his kisses. He raised her in his arms, and like a wildanimal carrying off his prey, ran with her back to the arbour.

God forgive her for having turned back.

CHAPTER XXIV

Raisky lay on the grass at the top of the cliff for a long time ingloomy meditation, groaning over the penalty he must pay for hisgenerosity, suffering alike for himself and Vera. "Perhaps she islaughing at my folly, down there with him. Who is there?" he cried aloud,stung with rage. "I will have his name." He saw himself merely as ashield to cover her passion. He sprang up wildly, and hurried down theprecipice, tearing his clothes in the bushes and listening in vain for asuspicious rustling. He told himself that it was an evil thing to pryinto another's secret; it was robbery. He stood still a moment to wipethe sweat from his brow, but his sufferings overcame his scruples. Hefelt his way stealthily forward, cursing every broken branch thatcracked under his feet, and unconscious of the blows he received on hisface from the rebounding branches as he forced his way through. He threwhimself on the ground to regain his breath, then in order not to betrayhis presence crept along, digging his nails into the ground as he went.When he reached the suicide's grave he halted, uncertain which way tofollow, and at length made for the arbour, listening and searching theground as he went.

Meanwhile everything was going on as usual in Tatiana Markovna'shousehold. After supper the company sat yawning in the hall, TietNikonich alone being indefatigable in his attentions, shuffling his footwhen he made a polite remark, and looking at each lady as if he wereready to sacrifice everything for her sake.

"Probably he is paying a visit in the town. He never says where hespends his time, so that I never know where to send the carriage forhim."

Inquiries made of Yakob revealed the fact that he had been in the gardenup to a late hour. Vera was not in the house when she was summoned totea. She had left word that they were not to keep supper for her, andthat she would send across for some if she were hungry. No one butRaisky had seen her go.

Tatiana Markovna sighed over their perversity, to be wandering about atsuch hours, in such cold weather.

"I will go into the garden," said Paulina Karpovna. "Perhaps MonsieurBoris is not far away. He will be delighted to see me. I noticed," shecontinued confidentially, "that he had something to say to me. He couldnot have known I was here."

Marfinka whispered to Vikentev that he did know, and had gone out onthat account.

"I will go, Marfa Vassilievna, and hide behind a bush, imitate BorisPavlovich's voice and make her a declaration," suggested Vikentev.

"Stay here, Nikolai Andreevich. Paulina Karpovna might be frightened andfaint. Then you would have to reckon with Grandmother."

"I am going into the garden for a moment to fetch the fugitive," saidPaulina Karpovna.

"God be with you, Paulina Karpovna," said Tatiana Markovna. "Don't putyour nose outside in the darkness, or at any rate take Egorka with youto carry a lantern."

"No, I will go alone. It is not necessary for anyone to disturb us."

"You ought not," intervened Tiet Nikonich politely, "to go out aftereight o'clock on these damp nights. I would not have ventured to detainyou, but a physician from Duesseldorf on the Rhine, whose book I am nowreading and can lend you if you like, and who gives excellent advice,says...."

Paulina Karpovna interrupted him by asking him if he would see her home,and then went into the garden before he could resume his remarks. Heagreed to her request and shut the door after her.

Soon after Paulina Karpovna's exit there was a rustling and crackling onthe precipice, and Raisky wearing the aspect of a restless, woundedanimal, appeared out of the darkness. He sat for several minutesmotionless on Vera's favourite bench, covering his eyes with his hands.Was it dream or reality, he asked himself. He must have been mistaken.Such a thing could not be. He stood up, then sat down again to listen.With his hands lying listlessly on his knees, he broke into laughterover his doubts, his questionings, his secret. Again he had an access ofterrible laughter. Vera--and _he_. The cloak which he himself hadsent to the "exile" lay near the arbour. The rogue had been cleverenough to get two hundred and twenty roubles for the settlement of hiswager, and the earlier eighty in addition. Sekleteia Burdalakov!

Again he laughed with a laugh very near a groan. Suddenly he stopped,and put his hand to his side, seized with a sudden consciousness of pain.Vera was free, but he told himself she had dared to mock another fellowhuman being who had been rash enough to love her; she had mocked herfriend. His soul cried for revenge.

He sprang up intent on revenge, but was checked by the question of howto avenge himself. To bring Tatiana Markovna, with lanterns, and a crowdof servants and to expose the scandal in a glare of light; to say to her,"Here is the serpent you have carried for two and twenty years in yourbosom"--that would be a vulgar revenge of which he knew himself to beincapable. Such a revenge would hit, not Vera, but his aunt, who was tohim like his mother. His head drooped for a moment; then he rose andhurried like a madman down the precipice once more.

There in the depths passion was holding her festival, night drew hercurtain over the song of love, love ... with Mark. If she hadsurrendered to another lover, to the tall, handsome Tushin, the owner ofland, lake, and forest, and the Olympian tamer of horses....

He could hardly breathe. Against his will there rose before him, fromthe depths of the precipice, the vision of Vera's figure, glorified witha seductive beauty that he had never yet seen in her, and though he wasdevoured by agony he could not take his eyes from the vision. At herfeet, like a lion at rest, lay Mark, with triumph on his face. Her footrested on his head. Horror seized him, and drove him onward, to destroyand mar the vision. He seemed to hear in the air the flattering words,the songs and the sighs of passion; the vision became fainter,mist-enshrouded, and finally vanished into air, but the rage forrevenge remained.

Everywhere was stillness and darkness, as he climbed the hill once more,but when he reached Vera's bench he saw a human shadow.

"Who is there?" he cried.

"Monsieur Boris, it is I, Paulina."

"You, what are you doing here?"

"I came, because I knew, I knew that you have long had something to sayto me, but have hesitated. Du courage. There is no one to see or hear us._Esperez tout...._"

"What do you want? Speak out."

_"Que vous m'aimez._ I have known it for a long time. _Vousm'avez fui, mais la passion vous a ramene ici...._"

He seized her roughly by the hand, and pushed her to the edge of theprecipice.

Her anxiety was not altogether groundless, for she stood on the edge ofan abrupt fall of the ground, and he grasped her hand more determinedly.

"You want love," he cried to the terrified woman. "Listen, to-night islove's night. Do you hear the sighs, the kisses, the breath of passion?"

"Let me go! Let me go! I shall fall."

"Away from here," he cried, loosening his grasp and drawing a deepbreath.

Like a madman he ran across the garden and the flower garden into theyard, where Egorka was washing his hands and face at the spring.

"Bring my trunk," he cried. "I am going to St. Petersburg in themorning." He ran water over his hands and washed his face and eyesbefore he turned to go to his room.

He could not stay within the four walls of his chamber. He went outagain and again, unprotected against the cold, to look at Vera's window.It was hardly possible to see ten paces ahead in the darkness. He wentto the acacia arbour to watch for Vera's return, and was furious becausehe could not conceal himself there, now that the leaves had fallen. Hesat there in torture until morning dawned, not from passion, which hadbeen drowned in that night's experiences. What passion would stand sucha shock as this? But he had an unconquerable desire to look Vera in theface, this new Vera, and with one glance of scorn to show her the shame,the affront she had put on him, on their aunt, on the whole household,on their society, on womanhood itself. He awaited her return in a feverof impatience. Suddenly he sprang up with an evil look of triumph on hisface.

"Fate has given me the idea," he thought. He found the gates stilllocked, but there was a lamp before the ikon in Savili's room, and heordered him to let him out and to leave the gates unlocked. He took fromhis room the bouquet holder and hastened to the orangery to the gardener.He had to wait a long time before it opened. The light grew stronger.When he looked over at the trees in the orangery, an evil smile againcrossed his face. The gardener was arranging Marfinka's bouquet.

"I want another bouquet," said Raisky unsteadily.

"One like this?"

"No, only orange blossoms," he whispered, turning paler as he spoke.

"Right, Sir," said the gardener, recalling that one of TatianaMarkovna's young ladies was betrothed.

"I am thirsty," said Raisky. "Give me a glass of water."

He drank the water greedily, and hurried the gardener on. When thesecond bouquet was ready he paid lavishly.

He returned to the house cautiously, carrying the two bouquets. As hedid not know whether Vera had returned in his absence, he had Marinacalled, and sent her to see if her mistress was at home or had alreadygone out walking. On hearing she was out he ordered Marfinka's bouquetto be put on Vera's table and the window to be opened. Then he dismissedMarina, and returned to the acacia arbour. Passion and jealousy setloose raged unchecked, and when pity raised her head she was quenched bythe torturing, overmastering feeling of outrage. He suppressed the lowvoice of sympathy, and his better self was silent. He was shuddering,conscious that poison flowed in his veins, the poison of lies anddeception.

"I must either shoot this dog Mark, or myself," he thought.

He held the bouquet of orange-blossoms in his two hands, like a sacredthing, and drank in its beauty with a wild delight. Then he fixed hiseyes on the dark avenue, but she did not come.

Broad daylight came, a fine rain began to fall and made the paths sodden.At last Vera appeared in the distance. His heart beat faster, and hisknees trembled so that he had to steady himself by the bench to keepfrom falling.

She came slowly nearer, with her bowed head wrapped in a dark mantilla,held in place over her breast by her pale hands, and walked into theporch without seeing him. Raisky sprang from his place of observation,and hid himself under her window.

She entered her room in a dream, without noticing that her clothes whichshe had flung on the floor when she went out had been put back again,and without observing the bouquet on the table or the opened window.Mechanically she threw aside her mantilla, and changed her muddy shoesfor satin slippers; then she sank down on the divan, and closed her eyes.After a brief minute she was awakened from her dream by the thud ofsomething falling on the floor. She opened her eyes and saw on the floora great sheaf of orange blossoms, which had plainly been thrown throughthe window.

Pale as death, and without picking up the flowers, she hurried to thewindow. She saw Raisky, as he went away, and stood transfixed. He lookedround, and their eyes met.

She was seized by pain so sharp that she could hardly breathe, andstepped back. Then she saw the bouquet intended for Marfinka on thetable. She picked it up, half unconsciously, to press it to her face,but it slipped from her hands, and she herself fell unconscious on thefloor.

CHAPTER XXV

At ten o'clock the big bell in the village church began to sound forMass. Tatiana Markovna's household was full of stir and bustle. Thehorses were being harnessed to the caleche and to an old fashionedcarriage. The coachmen, already drunk, donned their new dark bluecaftans, and their hair shone with grease. The women servants made a gaypicture in their many coloured cotton dresses, head and neck kerchiefs,and the maids employed in the house diffused a scent of cloves within aten yards radius. The cooks had donned their white caps in the earlymorning, and had been incessantly busy in the preparation of thebreakfast, dinner and supper to be served to the family and their guests,the kitchen, and the servants the visitors brought with them.

Tatiana Markovna had begun to make her toilet at eight o'clock, as soonas she had given her orders; she descended to the hall to greet herguests with the reserved dignity of a great lady, and the gentle smileof a happy mother and a hospitable hostess. She had set a small simplecap on her grey hair; the light brown silk dress that Raisky had broughtfrom St. Petersburg suited her well, and round her neck she worebeautiful old lace; the Turkish shawl lay on the arm-chair in her room.

Now she was preparing to drive to Mass, and walked slowly up and downthe hall with crossed hands, awaiting the assembly of the household. Shehardly noticed the bustle around her, as the servants went hither andthither, sweeping the carpets, cleaning the lamps, dusting the mirrors,and taking the covers from the furniture. She went first to one windowand then to the other, looking out meditatively on the road, the gardenand the courtyards.

Vikentev's mother was dressed in pearl grey with dark lace trimmings.Vikentev himself had been in his dress coat and white gloves from eighto'clock onwards.

Tatiana Markovna's pride and joy knew no bounds when Marfinka appeared,radiating gaiety from her bright eyes. While she slept the walls of hertwo rooms had been decorated with flowers and garlands. She was going toput on her simple blouse when she woke, but instead there lay on thechair by her bed a morning gown of lace and muslin with pink ribbons.She had not had time to give vent to her admiration when she saw on twoother chairs two lovely dresses, one pink and one blue, for her to makeher choice for the gala day.

She jumped up, and threw on her new morning gown without waiting to puton her stockings, and when she approached her mirror she found a newsurprise in the gifts that lay on her toilet table. She did not knowwhich to look at, or which to take up.

First she opened a lovely rosewood casket which contained a completedressing set, flasks, combs, brushes and endless trifles in glass andsilver, with a card bearing the name of her future Mama. Beside it laycases of different sizes. She threw a quick glance in the mirror,smoothed back her abundant hair from her eyes, seized all the cases in aheap, and sat down on the bed to look at them. She hesitated to openthem, and finally began with the smallest, which contained an emeraldring, which she hastily put on her finger. A larger case held earringswhich she inserted in her ears and admired in the glass from the bed.There were massive gold bracelets, set with rubies and diamonds, whichshe also put on. Last of all she opened the largest case, and lookedastonished and dazzled at its splendid contents: a chain of strungdiamonds, twenty-one to match her years. The accompanying card said:"With this gift I confide to you another, a costly one, my best offriends--myself. Take care of him. Your lover, Vikentev."

She laughed, looked round, kissed the card, blushed, sprang from the bedand laid the case in her cupboard, in the box where she kept her bonbons.There was still another case on the table, containing Raisky's gift of awatch, whose enamel cover bore her monogram, and its chain.

She looked at it with wide eyes, threw another glance at the other giftsand the garlanded walls, then threw herself on a chair and wept hottears of joy. "Oh, God!" she sobbed happily. "Why does everyone love meso. I do no good to anyone, and never shall."

And so, undressed, without shoes and stockings, but adorned with rings,bracelets, diamond earrings, she tearfully sought her aunt, who caressedand kissed her darling when she heard the cause of her tears.

"God loves you, Marfinka, because you love others, because all who seeyou are infected by your happiness."

Marfinka dried her tears.

"Nikolai Andreevich loves me, but he is my fiance; so does his Mama, butso does my cousin, Boris Pavlovich, and what am I to him?"

"The same as you are to everyone. No one can look at you and not behappy; you are modest, pure and good, obedient to your Grandmother.Spendthrift," she murmured in an aside, to hide her pleasure. "Such acostly gift! You shall hear of this, Borushka!"

"Grandmother! As if Boris Pavlovich could have guessed it. I have wanteda little enamelled watch like this for a long time."

"You haven't asked your Grandmother why she gives you nothing?"

Marfinka shut her mouth with a kiss.

"Grandmother," she said, "love me always, if you want to make me happy."

"With my love I will give you my enduring gift," she said, making thesign of the cross over Marfinka. "So that you shall not forget myblessing," she went on, feeling in her pocket--"You have given me twodresses, Grandmother, but who decorated my room so magnificently?"

"Your fiance and Paulina Karpovna sent the things yesterday, and keptthem out of your sight. Vassilissa and Pashutka hung the garlands up atdaybreak. The dresses are part of your trousseau, and there are more tofollow." Then taking from its case a gold cross with four large diamondsshe hung it round the girl's neck, and gave her a plain, simple braceletwith the inscription: "From Grandmother to her Grandchild," and with thename and the date.

Marfinka kissed her aunt's hand, and nearly wept once more.

"All that Grandmother has, and she has many things, will be dividedbetween you and Veroshka. Now make haste."

"How lovely you are to-day, Grandmother. Cousin is right. Tiet Nikonichwill fall in love with you."

"Nonsense, chatterbox. Go to Veroshka, and tell her not to be late forMass. I would have gone myself, but am afraid of the steps."

Vera lay unconscious for half an hour before she came to herself. Thecold wind that streamed through the open window fell on her face, andshe sat up to look around her. Then she rose, shut the window, walkedunsteadily to the bed, sank down on it, and drawing the cover overherself, lay motionless.

Overpowered with weakness she fell into a deep sleep, with her hairloose over the pillow. She slept heavily for about three hours until shewas awakened by the noise in the courtyard, the many voices, thecreaking of wheels and the sound of bells. She opened her eyes, lookedround, and listened.

There was a light knock at the door, but Vera did not stir. There was alouder knock, but she remained motionless. At the third she got up,glanced in the glass, and was terrified by the sight of her own face.She pushed her hair into order, threw a shawl over her shoulders, pickedup Marfinka's bouquet from the floor, and laid it on the table. Therewas another knock and she opened the door. Marfinka, gay and lovely,gleaming like a rainbow in her pretty clothes, flew into the room. Whenshe saw her sister she stood still in amazement.

"What is the matter with you, Veroshka? Aren't you well?"

"Not quite. I offer you my congratulations."

The sisters kissed one another.

"How lovely you are, and how beautifully dressed!" said Vera, making afaint attempt to smile. Her lips framed one, but her eyes were like theeyes of a corpse that no one has remembered to close. But she felt shemust control herself, and hastened to present Marfinka with the bouquet.

"What a lovely bouquet! And what is this?" asked Marfinka as she felt ahard substance, and discovered the holder set with her name and thepearls. "You, too, Veroshka! How is it you all love me so? I love youall, how I love you! But how and when you found out that I did, I cannotthink."

Vera was not capable of answering, but she caressed Marfinka's shoulderaffectionately.

"I must sit down," she said. "I have slept badly through the night."

"Grandmother calls you to Mass."

"I cannot, darling. Tell her I am unwell, and cannot leave the houseto-day."

"Then we shall send everything over. Ah, Veroshka, people have sent meso many presents, and flowers and bonbons. I must show them to you," andshe ran over a list of them.

"Yes, show me everything; perhaps I will come later," said Vera absently.

"Another bouquet?" asked Marfinka, pointing to the one that lay on thefloor. "For whom? How lovely!"

"For you too," said Vera, turning paler. She picked a ribbon hastilyfrom a drawer and fastened the bouquet with it. Then she kissed hersister, and sank down on the divan.

"You are really ill. How pale you are! Shall I tell Grandmother, and lether send for the doctor? How sad that it should be on my birthday. Theday is spoiled for me!"

"It will pass. Don't say a word to Grandmother. Don't frighten her.Leave me now, for I must rest."

At last Marfinka went. Vera shut the door after her, and lay down on thedivan.

CHAPTER XXVI

When Raisky returned to his room at daybreak and looked in the mirror,he hardly recognised himself. He felt chilly, and sent Marina for aglass of wine which he drank before he threw himself on his bed.Overcome by moral and physical exhaustion he slept as if he had thrownhimself into the arms of a friend and had confided his trouble to him.Sleep did him the service of a friend, for it carried him far from Vera,from Malinovka, from the precipice, from the fantastic vision of lastnight. When the ringing of many bells awoke him he lay for severalminutes under the soothing influence of the physical rest, which built arampart between him and yesterday. There was no agony in his awakeningmoments. But soon memory revived, and his face wore an expression moreterrible than in the worst moments of yesterday. A pain different fromyesterday's, a new devil had hurled itself upon him. He seized one pieceof clothing after another and dressed as hastily and nervously as Verahad done as she prepared to go to the precipice.

He rang for Egorka, from whom he learnt that everybody except Vera, whowas not well, had driven to Mass. In wild agitation he dashed across tothe old house. There was no response when he knocked at Vera's door. Heopened it cautiously, and stole in like a man with murderous intent,with horror imprinted on his features, and advanced on tiptoe, trembling,deadly pale, with swaying steps as if he might fall at any minute.

Vera lay on the divan, with her face turned away, her hair falling downalmost to the floor, and her slipper-clad feet hardly covered by hergrey skirt. She tried to turn round when she heard the noise of theopening door, but could not.

He approached, knelt at her feet, and pressed his lips to the slippershe wore. Suddenly she turned, and stared at him in astonishment. "Is itcomedy or romance, Boris Pavlovich," she asked brusquely, turned inannoyance, and hid her foot under the skirt which she straightenedquickly.

"No, Vera, tragedy," he whispered in a lifeless voice, and sat down onthe chair near the divan.

The tone of his voice moved her to turn and look keenly at him, and hereyes opened wide with astonishment. She threw aside her shawl, and rose,she had divined in Raisky's face the presence of the same deadlysuffering that she herself endured.

"What is your trouble? Are _you_ unhappy?" she said, laying herhand on his shoulder. In the simple word and in the tone of her voicethere were revealed the generous qualities of a woman, sympathy,selflessness, and love.

Keenly touched by the kindness and tenderness in her voice he looked ather with the same rapturous gratitude which she had worn on her faceyesterday when in self-forgetfulness he had helped her down theprecipice. She returned generosity with generosity, just as yesterdaythere had streamed from him a gleam of one of the highest qualities ofthe human mind. He was all the more in despair over what he had done,and wept hot tears. He hid his face in his hands like a man for whom allis lost.

"What have I done? I have insulted you, woman and sister."

"Do not make us both suffer," she said in a gentle, friendly tone."Spare me; you see how I am."

He tried not to meet her eyes, and she again lay down on the divan.

"What a blow I dealt you," he whispered in horror. "You see mypunishment, Vera!"

"Your blow gave me a minute's pain, and then I understood that it wasnot delivered with an indifferent hand, that you loved me. And it becameclear to me how you must have suffered ... yesterday."

"Don't justify my crime, Vera. A knife is a knife, and I aimed a knifeat you."

"You brought me to myself. I was as if I slept, and you, Grandmother,Marfinka and the whole house I saw as if in a dream."

"What am I to do, Vera? Fly from here? In what a state of mind I shouldleave! Let me endure my penance here, and be reconciled, as far as ispossible, with myself, with all that has happened here."

"Your imagination paints what was only a fault as a crime. Remember yourcondition when you did it, your agitation!" She gave him her hand, andcontinued, "I know now what one is capable of doing in the fever ofemotion."

"You are too severe with yourself. Another would have thought himselfjustified after all the jesting.... You remember those letters. Withwhatever good intention of calming your agitation, of answering yourjest with jests, it was malicious mockery. You suffered more from thoseletters than I did yesterday."

"Oh, dear, no! I have often laughed over them, especially when you askedfor a cloak, a rug, and money for the exile."

"What money? what cloak? what exile?" she exclaimed in astonishment. "Idon't understand."

"I myself had suspicions," he said, his face clearing a little. "I couldnot believe that that was your idea." And in a few words he told her thecontents of the two letters.

Her lips turned white.

"Natasha and I wrote to you turn and turn about in the same handwriting,amusing little letters in which we tried to imitate yours; that is all.I didn't know anything about the other letters," she whispered, turningher face to the wall.

Raisky strode up and down in thought, while Vera appeared to be resting,exhausted by the conversation.

"Cousin," she said suddenly, "I ask your help in a very important matter,and I know you will not refuse me." A glance at his face told her thatthere was nothing she could not ask of him. "While I still have strength,I want to tell you the whole history of this year."

"Why should you do that? I will not and I ought not to know."

"Do not disturb me, Boris. I can hardly breathe and time is precious. Iwill tell you the whole story, and you must repeat it to our Grandmother.I could not do it," she said. "My tongue would not say the words--Iwould rather die."

He looked at her with an expression of blank terror. "But why shouldGrandmother be told? Think of the consequences. Would it not be betterto keep her in ignorance?"

"No, the burden must be borne. It is possible that Grandmother and Iwill both die of it, or we shall lose our senses, but I will not deceiveher. She ought to have known it long ago, but I hoped to be able to tellher another story, and therefore was silent."

"To tell her everything, even of yesterday evening," he asked in a lowtone. "And the name also?"

She nodded almost imperceptibly in assent. Then she made him sit down onthe divan beside her, and in low, broken sentences told the story of herrelations with Mark. When she had finished she wrapped herself,shivering with cold, in her shawl. He rose from his seat. Both weresilent, each of them in terror, she as she thought of her grandmother,he as he thought of them both. Before him lay the prospect of having todeal Tatiana Markovna one thrust after another, and that not in the heatof passion, or in an access of blind revenge, but in the consciousnessof a most painful duty. It might be as she said an important service,but it was certainly a terrible commission.

"When shall I tell her?" he asked.

"As soon as possible, for I shall suffer so long as I know she is inignorance, and now, give me the eau-de-Cologne from the dressing-table,and leave me alone."

"It would not do to tell Grandmother to-day when the house is full ofguests, but to-morrow...." said Raisky.

"How shall I survive it? But till to-morrow, calm her by some means orother, so that she has no suspicion and sends no one here."

She closed her eyes in a longing for impenetrable night, for restwithout an awakening; she would like to have been turned into a thing ofstone so that she could neither think nor feel.

When he left her he was weighed down with a greater weight of fear thanthat which he had brought to the interview. Vera rose as soon as he lefther, closed the door, and lay down again. She had found consolation andhelp in Raisky's friendship, his sympathy and devotion, as a drowningman rises to the surface for a moment, but as soon as he was gone shefell back deeper into the depths. She told herself in despair that lifewas over. Before her there stretched the bare steppe; there was nolonger for her a family, nor anything on which a woman's life depends.She would have to stand before her aunt, to look her in the eyes, and totell her how she had recompensed her love and care. Suddenly she heardsteps and her aunt's voice. Pale and motionless, as if she had lost theuse of hands and feet, she listened to the light tap at the door. I willnot get up, I cannot, she thought. But when the knock was repeated, shesprang up with a strength which astonished herself, dried her eyes andwent smiling to meet her aunt.

When Tatiana Markovna had heard from Marfinka that Vera was ill, andwould remain in her room all day, she had come herself to inquire; sheglanced at Vera and sat down on the divan.

"The service has tired me so that I could hardly walk up the steps.What's the matter with you, Vera?" she continued, looking keenly at her.

"I congratulate Marfinka on her birthday," said Vera, in the voice of alittle girl who has learnt her speech by heart. She kissed hergrandmother's hand and wondered how she had managed to bring the wordsover her lips. "I got wet feet yesterday, and have a headache." Shetried to smile, but there was no smile on her lips.

"You must rub your feet with spirit," remarked Tatiana Markovna, who hadnoticed the strained voice and the unnatural smile, and guessed a lackof frankness. "Are you coming to be with us, Vera? Don't force yourselfto do so, and so make yourself worse," she continued, seeing that Verawas incapable of answering.

Vera was all the more frightened by her aunt's consideration for her.Her conscience stirred, and she felt that Tatiana Markovna must alreadyknow all, and that her confession would come too late. She was on thepoint of falling on her breast, and making her confession there and then,but her strength failed her.

"Excuse me, Grandmother, from dinner; perhaps I will come over in theafternoon."

Tatiana Markovna kissed her, and stroked her hair, remarking casuallythat one of the maids should come and do her room, as she might have avisitor.

Tatiana Markovna returned sadly to the house. She was, indeed, politelyattentive to her guests as she always was, but Raisky noticedimmediately that something was wrong with her after her visit to Vera.She found it hard to restrain her emotion, hardly touched the food, didnot even look round when Petrushka smashed a pile of plates, and morethan once broke off in the middle of a sentence. In the afternoon as theguests took coffee on the broad terrace in the mild September sunshine,Tatiana Markovna moved among her guests as if she were hardly aware ofthem. Raisky wore a gloomy air and had eyes for no one but his aunt."Something is wrong with Vera," she whispered to him. "She is in trouble.Have you seen her?"

"No," he said. But his aunt looked at him as if she doubted what he said.

Paulina Karpovna had not come. She had sent word that she was ill, andthe messenger brought flowers and plants for Marfinka. In order toexplain the scene of the day before, and to find out whether she hadguessed anything, Raisky had paid a visit in the morning to PaulinaKarpovna. She received him with a pretence of being offended, but withhardly disguised satisfaction. His excuse was that he had dined withfriends that night and had had a glass too much. He begged forforgiveness which was accorded with a smile, all which did not preventPaulina Karpovna from recounting to all her acquaintance her love scene.

Tushin came to dinner, and brought Marfinka a lovely pony to ride. Heasked for Vera, and was plainly disturbed when he heard of theindisposition which prevented her from coming to dinner. TatianaMarkovna observed him, wondering why Vera's absence had such aremarkable effect on him, though this had often been the case beforewithout exciting any surprise on her part. She could not keep out of herhead anxiety as to what change had come over Vera since yesterdayevening. She had had a little quarrel with Tiet Nikonich, and hadscolded him for having brought Marfinka the Sevres mirror. Afterwardsshe was closeted with him for a quarter of an hour in her sitting-room,and he emerged from the interview looking serious. He shifted his footless, and even when he was talking to ladies his serous inquiring glancewould wander to Raisky or Tushin.

Up till this time Tatiana Markovna had been so gay. Her one anxiety, andat the moment the only one perhaps, had been the celebration of Vera'snameday a fortnight ahead, she would have liked to have celebrated itwith the same magnificence as Marfinka's birthday, although Vera hadroundly declared that on that day she meant to go on a visit to AnnaIvanovna Tushin, or to her friend Natasha. But how Tatiana Markovna hadchanged since Mass. As she talked with her guests she was thinking onlyof Vera, and gave absent-minded answers. The excuse of a cold had notdeceived her, and as she had touched Vera's brow on leaving her, she hadrealised that a cold could be nothing but a pretext. She remembered thatVera and Raisky had vanished in the afternoon and that neither hadappeared at supper. She was constantly watching Raisky, who sought toavoid her glance, thereby only arousing her suspicions the more.Then Vera herself unexpectedly appeared amongst the guests, wearing awarm mantilla over her light dress and a wrap round her throat. Raiskywas so astonished that he looked at her as if she were an apparition. Afew hours ago she had been almost too exhausted to speak, and now hereshe was in person. He wondered where women found their strength. Verawent round speaking to the guests, looked at Marfinka's presents, andate, to quench her thirst, as she said, a slice of water melon. TatianaMarkovna was to some extent relieved to see Vera, but it disturbed herto notice that Raisky's face had changed. For the first time in her lifeshe cursed her guests; they were just sitting down to cards, then therewould be tea, and then supper, and Vikentev was not going untilto-morrow morning.

CHAPTER XXVII

Raisky found himself between two fires. On the one hand, TatianaMarkovna looked at him as much as to say that he probably knew what wasthe matter with Vera, while Vera's despairing glance betrayed heranxiety for the moment of her confession. He himself would have liked tohave sunk into the earth. Tushin looked in an extraordinary manner atVera, as both Tatiana Markovna and Raisky, but most of all Vera herself,noticed. She was terrified, and asked herself whether he had heard anyrumour. He esteemed her so highly, thought her the noblest woman in theworld, and, if she were silent, she would be accepting his esteem onfalse premisses. He, too, would have to be told, she thought. Sheexchanged greetings with him without meeting his eyes; and he lookedstrangely at her, timidly and sympathetically. Vera told herself thatshe must know what was in his mind, that if he looked at her again likethat she would collapse. He did look at her again, and she could endureno more and left the company. Before she went she signed secretly toTushin to follow her.

"I cannot receive you in the old house," she said, "Come into theavenue."

"Is it not too damp, as you are not well?"

"That does not matter," she said.

He looked at his watch and said that he would be going in an hour. Aftergiving orders to have his horses taken out of the stable and broughtinto the yard, he picked up his silver-handled whip and with his cloakon his arm followed Vera into the avenue. "I will not beat about thebush," he said. "What is the matter with you to-day? You have somethingon your mind."

She wrapped her face in her mantilla as she spoke, and her shouldersshivered as if with cold. She dare not raise her eyes to him as hestrode silently beside her.

"But you are ill, Vera Vassilievna. I had better talk to you anothertime. You were not wrong in thinking I had something to say to you."

"No, Ivan Ivanovich, let it be to-day. I want to know what you have tosay to me. I myself wanted to talk to you, but perhaps it is too latefor what I have to say. Do you speak," she said, wondering painfully howand where he could have learnt her secret.

"I came here to-day...." he said as they sat down on the bench.

"What have you to say to me? Speak!" she interrupted.

"How can I say it to you now, Vera Vassilievna?" said Tushin springingto his feet.

"Do not make me suffer," she murmured.

"I love you...."

"Yes, I know it," she interrupted. "But what have you heard?"

"I have heard nothing," he said, looking round in amazement. He was nowfor the first time aware of her agitation, and his heart stood stillwith delight. She has guessed my secret and shares my feelings, hethought, and what she is asking, is for a frank, brief avowal. "You areso noble, so beautiful, Vera Vassilievna, so pure...." An exclamationwas wrung from her, and she would have risen, but could not.

"You mock me, you mock me," she said, raising her hands beseechingly.

"You are ill, Vera Vassilievna," he said, looking at her in terror."Forgive me for having spoken to you at such a time."

"A day earlier or later makes no difference. Say what you have to say,for I also desire to tell you why I have brought you here."

"Is it really true?" he cried, hardly knowing how to contain his delight.

"What is true? You want to say something else, not what I expected," shesaid. "Speak, and do not prolong my sufferings."

"I love you," he repeated. "If you can grant what I have confessed toyou (and I am not worthy of it), if your love is not given elsewhere,then be my forest queen, my wife, and there will be no happier man onearth than I. That is what I have long wished to say to you and have notdared. I should have done it on your nameday but I could no longerendure the suspense, and have come to-day, on the family festival, onyour sister's birthday."

"Ivan Ivanovich," she moaned. The thought flashed through his head likelightning that this was no expression of joy, and he felt his hair wasbeginning to stand on end. He sat down beside her and said, "What iswrong with you, Vera Vassilievna? You are either ill, or are bearing agreat sorrow."

"Yes, Ivan Ivanovich! I feel that I shall die."

"What is your trouble? For God's sake, tell me. You said that you hadsomething to confide in me, which means that I must be necessary to you;there is nothing I would not do for you. You have only to command me.Forgive me my too hasty speech."

"You, too, my poor Ivan Ivanovich! I can find neither prayers nor tears,nor is there any guidance or help for me anywhere."

"What words of despair are these, Vera Vassilievna?"

"Do you know _whom_ you love?"

He threw his cloak on the bench, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Herwords told him that his hopes were ruined, that her love was givenelsewhere. He drew a deep breath, and sat motionless, awaiting herfurther explanations.

"My poor friend," she said, taking his hand. The simple words filled himwith new sorrow; he knew that he was in fact to be pitied.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Forgive me ... I did not know, VeraVassilievna ... I am a fool.... Please forget my declaration. But Ishould like to help you, since you say yourself you rely on me for aservice. I thank you for holding me worthy of that. You stand so highabove me; I always feel that you stand so high, Vera Vassilievna."

"My poor Ivan Ivanovich, I have fallen from those heights, and no humanpower can reinstate me," she said, as she led him to the edge of theprecipice.

"Do you know this place?" she asked.

"Yes, a suicide is buried there."

"There, in the depths below the precipice, your 'pure' Vera also liesburied," she said with the decision of despair.

"What are you saying? I don't understand. Enlighten me, VeraVassilievna."

Summoning all her strength she bent her head and whispered a few wordsto him, then returned, and sank down on the bench. Tushin turned pale,swayed, lost his balance, and sat down beside her. Even in the dim lightVera noticed his pallor.

"And I thought," he said, with a strange smile, as if he were ashamed ofhis weakness, rising to his feet with difficulty, "that only a bear wasstrong enough to knock me over." Then he stooped to her and whispered,"Who?"

The question sent a shudder through her, but she answered quickly:

"Mark Volokov."

His face twitched ominously. Then he pressed his whip over his knee sothat it split in pieces, which he hurled away from him.

"So it will end with him too," he shouted. As he stood trembling beforeher, stooping forward, with wild eyes, he was like an animal ready tospring on the enemy. "Is he there now?" he cried, pointing with aviolent gesture in the direction of the precipice.

She looked at him as if he were a dangerous animal, as he stood there,breathing heavily; then she rose and took refuge behind the bench.